


Finding Amy

by fanaticandfemale



Series: Finding Amy [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Drama, F/M, Fun, Love, Suspense, Teamwork, Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticandfemale/pseuds/fanaticandfemale
Summary: Even behind prison bars, Jimmy 'The Butcher' Figgis wields tremendous power. When a chance meeting brings him in contact with an old enemy of Detective Jake Peralta, plans to destroy the cocksure detective are put into motion. And everyone knows, the easiest way to hurt Jake? Go after his girl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pizza does not save the day.

**Tuesday evening, Jake and Amy’s Apartment**

Detective Jake Peralta had a bounce in his step as he balanced a loaded pizza in his left hand and unlocked the door with the other, all while singing one of his signature "ski-ba-dee-bop-bop-bop" tunes. Having put in several hours of overtime, Jake’s stomach demanded satisfaction. Since the combined culinary skills of his roommate (read, the love of his life) were mostly restricted to boiled eggs - whether the egg turned out hard or soft was forever a toss-up - and ramen noodles, Jake opted for pizza. You could never go wrong with pizza, something he and said roommate firmly agreed on. Pizza was the food equivalent of happiness, and making Amy happy was one of Jake's biggest pleasures.

Without a doubt, Amy Santiago was one of the brightest lights in Jake’s life: his coworker, his friend, his source of constant entertainment, the woman who proved love really was accompanied by butterflies in the belly. And she was the woman who, in only a few months, would be his wife.

Jake had parked his battered car in the underground lot, then went for the stairwell, energized and excited to be home. It had been a good, successful day. Knowing he'd be returning to a home shared with the woman he loved made everything that much sweeter. After years of bachelorhood, and an uneasy childhood in a tension-filled home, ending his day with a person whose love for him was never in doubt? Well, that was pretty much perfection.

He'd passed Amy's gleaming, spotless car on the trek through the parking lot and grinned. Not only did the car tell him that she was, in fact, at home, but her ridiculous precision parking job never failed to make him laugh. In their apartment complex each space was assigned, and Jake had quickly noticed Amy’s borderline-OCD habit of sliding arrow-straight into her spot. He had, in fact, used a tape measure to check the space between the borders on each side of the car and its tires. His on-spot cop instincts proved true, and he’d been delighted to drag Amy outside, measuring tape in hand, to show her that, yep, she always parked her car precisely 4.2 inches from both white lines. 

He loved poking fun at Amy for those bafflingly adorable signs of perfectionism. He loved just about every facet her. She was weird and anal and had a mysterious love affair with stationery and binders and laminating materials (a trip to any office supply store was never an errand and always an event for his Ames). She was sharp-witted and funny and beautiful. She owned her multitude of pure dorky tendencies. She was who she was, and she was just fine with it. 

Every now and then, it abruptly struck Jake that one of the things Amy was just fine with was loving him. It was improbable, it was against all logic, but Detective Amy Santiago had actually chosen to become fiancee to the hapless, adorable, and deceptively clever Jacob Peralta. Yes, fiancee. The word made him giddy every time he used it - thought it, heard it - and the prospect of calling her his wife? Mind. Blown. And Jake had no problem proudly demonstrating his love. He wasn’t embarrassed in the least to broadcast his feelings. In fact, it was entirely possible that every now and then, looking at his fiancee (!) literally transformed Jake’s soft brown eyes into cartoon hearts. 

Yes, their styles were as different as could be. Jake lived moment to moment and liked to considered himself a lone wolf, the rogue cop who stood his ground and protected it fiercely, territorial and intimidating. Being that kind of cop had been his dream since reading a 70’s novel about old school NYPD cops at the tender age of eleven. Enter the Die Hard franchise several years later, and Jake’s life goals were cemented. He figured he’d been born to be a renegade, a badass, an unpredictable scourge of the streets who flaunted the rules and laughed in the face of danger.

Except he wasn't really any of those things. Okay, it was always a thrill to be primary on a case, but over the years he’d come to see that teamwork was actually more thrilling. A case worked and solved by anyone in the precinct gave Jake the strangest sense of satisfaction. Playing a role in the solve was, obviously, pretty damn awesome as well. But the togetherness, the fun of post-solve sessions at Shaw’s bar featuring insane games and never-ending shots - the joy of that couldn’t be understated. Not so deep down, Jake Peralta was a marshmallow. He cared about the Nine Nine, supported his superiors, inferiors, regular peer-iors, with every fiber of his being. Attention and credit weren’t without their perks, but that feeling of community, that rush of pride when the squad chanted “Nine Nine!” - that was a rush he’d never anticipated in his early years on the force.

The 99th Precinct gave Jake’s life meaning and purpose. His job let him catch bad guys and look good doing it. It also formed the foundation for the most important relationships in his life. 

That brought him to the day one Detective Amy Santiago walked into his precinct, offering a firm handshake she’d later confessed to mastering during a two-hour seminar devoted entirely to the art of the first impression. She’d sauntered into his precinct and became the distraction he pretended didn't distract him in the least. Their relationship had been contentious and competitive, fun and funny, blending so seamlessly into his day-to-day life that it took years for him to realize he was falling harder for her every single day. When he did figure out that he was crushing hard, he tried to tell himself the intensity of his feelings would pass, that following through on the crush would end disastrously. 

It didn’t pass; quite the opposite. Jake ultimately realized that any chance of a relationship with Amy would be worth possible disaster or heartbreak. But their timing had always been just a little off - until one day, in the name of police integrity and a determination to uphold the law, she’d given him a full on, dizziness-inducing kiss to maintain their undercover status. And that was it, really. That one kiss performed in the line of duty, that one kiss that gave him the courage to just give it a shot - that’s where it all began. He swooped in, couldn't stop himself, and she'd twined her arms around his neck, pulled him close, poured everything she felt into the kiss. He'd never forget the look on her face when they'd slowly ended that kiss, the big eyes staring up at him, excited, wary, unsure, and full of need. 

Yeah, the precinct’s evidence room was a pretty magical place in Jake’s memory.

He was still ski-ba-dee-bopping as he walked into the warmth of their home and dropped the box of pizza on a table beside the cushy sofa, the one holdover from his last apartment. Having met the Santiago seal of approval, they’d carted it inside, an off-white, unattractive abomination of a couch that was nonetheless super comfy. Jake remembered his horror when he came home one day to the sight of a muted blue sofa where his should’ve been. Turned out, his genius of a fiancee had hand-sewn a slipcover, draping the sad-but-beloved heap of a couch with faux-suede fabric and making it into something that no longer offended the eye. Together they’d tumbled onto the cushions, morally obligated to christen what was basically a brand new couch, laughing and tickling and ultimately trembling on the teal cushions perfectly matching the room’s pale blue walls.

It was a fairly solid metaphor for the Jake and Amy dynamic, actually - that stunning transformation of a once-white second-hand sofa into a cozy, fully functional and aesthetically pleasing place to cuddle. Amy loved him, respected him, would never throw away a piece of Jake’s history - but she would help to improve it, and his, future. And Jake would never stand in the way of Amy’s abundant potential, whether she used it to craft a masterpiece or snag a promotion.

They were undoubtedly two very separate, insanely different people. They were also undoubtedly one very strong, loving couple. Jake brought Amy entertainment, laughter, light-heartedness, made her own inner goofball shine; Amy brought Jake a sense of focus, of purpose, while simultaneously appreciating - loving - his boyish antics. And all the while, she pointed him - them - in the direction of dreaded adulthood. Funny, he thought now. That whole concept of being an adult used to terrify him. Now the concept of growing up wasn't a dark, shadowy thing - it was alight with promise, brimming with possibilities. For the first time in his life, Jake genuinely cared about his own personal growth. He wanted to be a responsible(ish) grown-up, wanted to build a life, even, oh jeez, a family. He wanted to improve his painfully pathetic credit score, to learn how wash his clothes without flooding the laundry room. Yes, Amy Santiago brought out the happiest and absolute best version of Jake just by being Amy Santiago. 

Jake planned on spending the rest of his life returning the favor.

"Honeyyyy," he called out, dropping his key ring on a hook by the door and shedding the beat-up leather jacket he'd had for longer than he could remember. “Someone brought you dinnneerrrrr!” 

His words received a tiny, muffled response. Hunger pangs momentarily silenced by love and concern, Jake ditched the pizza to track the source of Amy’s voice.

“Babe?”

No answer. Jake followed the length of the hallway, took a left at the T heading to their bedroom. He heard a mumble from the direction of the closet, tried to remember if he’d done something to elicit those snuffly sounds from his bride-to-be. 

And suddenly thought, shit - he had. If he were a defense attorney (gross), he would plead innocent - he’d committed no crime, had done nothing wrong in an active sense. It’s not like he’d lied to her, so technically, technically, he was in the clear.

Only, Jake wasn’t an attorney, and Amy wasn’t the prosecution. She was judge, jury, and executioner. And Jake knew as he stepped into their room that this judge would not appreciate or accept the defense that in lying by omission, he hadn't really lied at all. Still, he paused to take a slow breath, then put on that boyishly charming smile and entered their closet to find Amy buried in a pile of clothes, cross-legged on the floor, head in hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Captain Holt and Kevin Cozner play Amy like the proverbial violin.

_**Tuesday, earlier that day, 99th Precinct, Brooklyn, NY** _

Detective Amy Santiago sat in Captain Raymond Holt’s office, looking in horror at her boss and the man beside him. The lanky, dour-faced Professor Kevin Cozner had a more scholarly look than his husband, but both men were equally capable of using their eyes to say everything their mouths chose not to vocalize.

All four eyes gazed into her own and told her clearly that they were thoroughly unimpressed. Disappointed, even - which everyone knew was worse.

Amy desperately hoped the dusky Latina complexion inherited from her Cuban parents hid the green tinge of nausea gripping her gut. Her own mouth, wide, full-lipped, and very, very dry, worked fruitlessly. It seemed her brain cells and her ability to speak had chosen the worst possible moment to desert the field.

“Santiago? Kevin and I do have lunch plans; we will require an answer sometime in the near future.” All three of them knew that Holt’s alleged ‘near future’ deadline was, in fact, code for ‘right now.’

Amy stuttered incoherently. Thanks to Holt and Kevin’s exceptional poker faces, she had no way of knowing just how entertained the couple was as they watched her squirm in discomfort. They both knew their play would be successful, but every now and then, the men quite enjoyed the simple act of playing in the first place.

“Detective Santiago, is there a problem?” This from Kevin, in that smooth, cultured voice most often heard filling the lecture halls of Columbia University.

Amy’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, giving her the appearance of a very pretty fish. 

“No, no problem sir. Sirs. Gentlemen. I’m… I’m processing,” she managed finally.

“It is a yes or no question, Santiago. Processing is not a necessity.” Holt’s flat affect had a shiver running down Amy’s spine and, in an effort to project confidence, she straightened her posture like a recruit called to attention.

“Well - it’s just - Captain, you _know_ my track record with public speaking. The Magnet School visit… the discussion with that at-risk youth group…”

“Ah, that would be the event Raymond calls ‘Black People Can Sell Drugs’ day, yes?”

There was no way to counteract the blood rushing to Amy’s cheeks. “Gina came up with that,” she murmured. The tagline was one of Gina’s many points of pride, and the mild amusement in Kevin’s tone reminded Amy that regardless of Gina’s more off-beat qualities, the man genuinely _liked_ his husband’s assistant. Amy’s personal standing with Kevin was less straightforward. Sure, Gina could get away with stealing half the couple’s silverware on the Nine Nine’s first visit to Holt and Kevin’s home, but getting caught accidentally wandering into _one_ bedroom and you’re branded for life.

Okay, maybe not _accidentally_. And maybe not _wandering_. But purposefully searching the master bedroom had such a damning ring to it.

“Santiago, my recollection is that a record number of youths joined the NYPD initiative that day; is that not accurate, detective?”

The rigid posture turned to silly putty as Amy’s shoulders slumped. “That was on Gina, too.”

“My, that Gina,” Kevin spoke fondly. “Quite a wonder, isn’t she Raymond?”

“Truly, her cleverness never fails to impress.”

“It really is beautiful to see her blossoming. Juggling her career, pursuing academia, all as a new mother?” Kevin shook his head, smiling. “It’s so nice to see a young woman live up to her potential.”

Amy purposefully clenched her jaw to ensure her own silence, but when Holt added, “She really is a wonderful example for women everywhere,” that jaw unclenched and venom spewed out.

“Then why don’t you ask _her_ to do this??” A fraction of a second passed before she clapped a hand over her mouth, blushing furiously. “Oh my God, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean - sir - sirs - uh, Professor? Doctor? Mr. C!” _Mr. C?! Get it together, Amy!_

“Please, Detective, the epithets and… nicknames are hardly necessary. Just call me Kev-” an elongated pause gave her a split second to feel a rush of hope - “in.” 

Now she blinked. “Kev in what - oh. You meant…”

“Yes, I meant call me _Kevin_ , Detective.” His voice mirrored that of a parent speaking to his slow-witted child.

Amy gulped. “Yes, of course… Kevin.”

“Very good. I assume you know precisely why Gina would be unable to fulfill the job, yes?”

_Too busy with a Dancy Reagan rehearsal? Finalizing plans for world domination via the G-Hive?_

“She’s not a detective,” Amy responded.

Holt inclined his head. “You, on the other hand, you _are_ a detective, thus generally qualified to carry out this request.”

It was a rare moment that Holt had to force back a smile. Now was one such moment, as he could all but see the word ‘generally’ burrowing sharply under Amy’s skin.

“I am _more_ than qualified, Captain. Kevin. Sirs.”

“Agreed,” Kevin put in. “Still, your reticence is not beyond our notice. I’m somewhat miffed; I would have thought this a golden opportunity for you, Detective.”

“I must agree with my husband, Santiago; your reluctance is rather surprising.”

“You see,” Kevin went on before Amy could speak, “My husband has always given the impression that you are one of his most dedicated supporters. In fairness, your name is by no means a regular topic of conversation in our household, but Raymond is hardly known for misjudging one’s character. I cannot but feel that you’re putting that judgment into question. It almost seems you find his choice to be… incorrect.”

Neither man's expression altered in the slightest, but Amy swore the chill of Kevin’s voice caused a drop in temperature. _Is the air getting thinner? I’m pretty sure the air is getting thinner. Breathe, Amy. You can’t let your brain_ and _lungs fail you!_

Those lungs flooded with a sudden, dizzying rush of air, so that her next words tumbled out so fast they were nearly incoherent. “Oh, God - no - of course - I - please, I’d never - I’d rather _die_!”

“Than…?”

Amy shook her head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring her vision. “My apologies,” she said slowly, carefully. “I meant, I’d rather die than question your judgment, Captain. Than fail to fulfill your wishes to the absolute best of my ability.” She caught herself before she actually saluting the captain. 

Kevin and Holt raised their brows in simultaneous skepticism. The latter’s tone was unconvinced. “I may have believed that statement ten minutes ago, detective, but that confidence is rapidly deteriorating.”

Amy swallowed audibly. “Sir. Gentlemen. I would never question your wishes or decisions.”

Holt’s left brow rose impossibly higher. “Is that not exactly what you are currently doing?”

A combination of desperation and exasperation had Amy launching into a monologue. “No, no sir, I’m not questioning you, or doubting you - or your husband, who I respect so very much. Sir, I remain ever your faithful servant,” she went on, briefly wondering whether or not she’d just plagiarized the Bible. 

“I just want to do right by, by the Nine Nine, by the entire NYPD, Captain. I want to stand by you, stand _for_ you, represent you in the best of ways, to meet your approval in whatever manner I possibly can. You, sir, are my every-” _Don’t say he’s your everything, Amy, for the love of God do_ not _say it_ \- “You’re the man I look up to more than any other. I’d do anything you ask of me.”

This really wasn’t an exaggeration. It was, however, the exact opening Holt and Kevin were looking for.

“Excellent!” Kevin said. He crossed the room to collect his coat, obviously considering the matter closed.

 _Shit._ Amy’s mouth went back to gaping fish mode. “No - wait - I didn’t mean - ”

Holt rose as well, fixing Amy with a steady gaze. “Detective, calm yourself. This is a simple task. An associate of my husband requires a knowledgable source of information re the inner workings of a police precinct. You’ll merely provide said associate’s students with a solid guideline for completing a creative writing assignment centered on the NYPD.”

“Um - okay. Yeah. So, I’d only - ” there was that sad parody of a voice again, but Amy soldiered on. “I’d just be doing a… a presentation kind of thing? Kind of a run-through on proper police protocol?”

“Something I believe to be ‘right up your alley,’ to borrow a colloquialism,” Kevin answered from the doorway. “You’ll be a source of information on procedure before, during, and after the conclusion of a case. Perhaps you could include a humorous anecdote of some sort; I imagine Detective Peralta can help with that aspect. Quick and painless, Detective. It is hardly a task of epic proportions.”

With Amy’s eyes riveted on Kevin, Holt allowed himself the slightest twitch of a smile. There was no way either man would tell Amy she’d be expected to spend a good hour at the podium, which would of course be followed by a question and answer session.

“I’m still - I’m just still not sure I’m right for this,” Amy said weakly, even as her thoughts tumbled crazily. Oh, God, she just _couldn’t_ fail her work dads. That was a thought beyond comprehension.

Still, she wavered. Holt slanted a look at Kevin. If the couple wanted a meal any time soon, it was time to play their trump card. At his cue, Kevin showed his hand, speaking in a voice just loud enough to reach Amy’s ears.

“Raymond, you’re sure Detective Peralta is still unavailable?” To Amy, the implication was clear: Jake had been Kevin’s first choice.

Her shoulders went taut as her head snapped up. 

“Wait - _Jake_? Like, _my_ Jake? You wanted Jake Peralta to talk to a class of _academics_?” Yes, she loved her fiancee with all her heart. But she wasn’t stupid. He’d treat this sort of thing like an elementary school field trip; there was no way in hell he’d take this seriously.

Holt spared a look for Amy but ignored her words. “As much as I’d like Peralta to take care of this, his schedule is overbooked as it is between the recent robberies and several necessary court appearances. Kevin, I too recognize that Jacob would be the perfect speaker. Unfortunately, I need him to direct his charisma to judges and juries rather than students. I cannot in good conscience remove him from the courtroom at this point.”

Kevin offered a ghost of a grin. “He is quite charismatic. You’ll never believe it, but today as I saw him on my way in, I actually called him Jacob! _Jacob,_ Raymond!”

Holt barked out a laugh. “I warned you that Peralta has a way about him. A sort of… magnetism, I suppose, an approachability that would mesh well with students. In truth, Kevin, I’ve already consulted with the prosecution to determine whether or not Jacob could be spared,” Holt lied easily. “It’s just not feasible.”

“Wait - you actually tried to get Jake out of court so he could do this over _me_? Seriously? Dads - dad - ” _oh come on Amy!!_ she thought, closing her eyes and breathing deep, “Captain. Kevin. Now, I know I’m marrying him and all - ” she let her gaze drop to the small engagement ring winking on her left hand - “but this is Jake we’re talking about. Surely you understand, Kev - Professor. This is the job of an academic! Jake would just go on and on about how it’s totally realistic for John McClane to walk barefoot on glass for hours! He’d probably top it all off with some ridiculous mash-up of Die Hard clips and perform reenactments.” 

“Yes,” Kevin said thoughtfully, “You’re right… He surely would think of such a clever tactic to engage his audience…”

 _Okay, enough of this,_ Amy thought, springing to her feet. “I’ll do it. I can be charismatic or magnetic or whatever ‘tic’ you need. I can be engaging! I _will_ be engaging! Please, give me the opportunity to do this. I won’t let you down, either of you. I want to do this. _Need_ to do this. I’m ashamed to have questioned either, both of you, for even a _second_. Let me do this. I won’t disappoint you - I’ll go above and beyond, I’ll climb every mountain, I will ford _every_ sea, I will - ”

This wasn’t the first time Amy had given Holt an impassioned speech and slipped into song lyrics; really, it was an endearing quality, not that Holt would ever admit it. Clearly, Kevin, too, was entertained, continuing the verse in that wry tone he used to well.

“Follow every rainbow?”

Holt turned away to shrug on his coat - and hide a grin.

“Perhaps we should save the _Sound of Music_ rehearsals for another time,” Holt said. 

Amy figured she’d already reached her mortification quota for the day and decided to ignore her own lyrical wanderings. She watched the men in the doorway, noticed they had nearly identical peacoats, Holt’s slate gray, Kevin’s dark as midnight. And there was Kevin, helping Holt into his coat before putting on his own. And Holt, reaching into his pockets for a pair of gloves and coming up empty. Kevin shook his head in a gentle admonishment before, in a lovely display of marital affection, using his own gloved hands to unwind his scarf and drape it over the captain’s shoulders.

The movements were all so automatic, so natural, and for a moment, Amy forgot that she’d just willingly placed her head on the executioner’s block. This, she thought, was a real couple, a solid couple - just look at them, anticipating each other’s needs without asking, fulfilling those needs without words. Her brain went off on a dreamy little tangent as she pictured the same kind of scene playing out between herself and Jake thirty-odd years down the line.

 _I cannot wait to marry that man,_ she thought, eyes shining bright as her ring.

“Detective.” Holt and Kevin stood as a unit, both looking in her direction, “You are dismissed, thank you.”

“Oh, yes - apologies, sir. Um… enjoy lunch.”

“Don’t worry overmuch, Detective,” Kevin said kindly. “You’ll do very well.”

“Yes,” Holt agreed before slipping in one more jab for the pure fun of it. “And I am quite certain Peralta will be a great help in crafting the presentation.”

Amy’s fists tightened but she managed to bite her tongue. “I’m sure he will be,” she said in as pleasant a tone as she could manage. “Sir - you didn’t actually tell me the date of the presentation.”

No, he hadn’t - quite purposefully. Now Holt simply gave Amy a parting nod, saying, “Gina has all the details, Santiago - our lunch break is already down to twenty-two minutes. I shall return shortly.”

Feeling like she’d just barely remained upright in the face of a tornado, Amy left the office for the bullpen. Jake was nowhere in sight, which was an instant disappointment, so she slumped to her desk, sat heavily, and released a lengthy sigh.

“Hey Amessss,” Gina drawled cheerfully from behind her. “How’s it goooooin?”

“Oh, fantastic, just finished notarizing my own death certificate.”

“Aww, lemme guess… you agreed to something you really don’t wanna do because Holt’s like, your god?” Amy’s turned to look at Gina, who responded with a toothy grin.

“You are enjoying this far too much you… you she-devil!”

Gina’s grin spread. “Man, Ames, flattery will get you everywhere.”

Amy didn’t dignify that with an answer, but Gina was nothing if not persistent.

“Oh, one question.”

“ _What?_ ” Amy was in full snippy mode.

“Did you want, like, an email reminder or something, so you can make sure to get all the hissy fits and panic attacks out of your system before the big day?”

Suspicion flashed in Amy’s eyes. “You’ve never offered me a reminder email. Or at least, never offered me one _before_ the actual event.”

“Just being a friend, friend,” Gina said with a wink.

Amy breathed deep. “When is it, Gina?” There was a sick feeling in Amy’s stomach.

“Hold up, just gotta consult my notes,” Gina answered, flicking through blank sheets of printer paper.

Amy suppressed the urge to scream. “Oh, God, just tell me before my brain literally explodes.”

“Aw, cutie. It’s no big deal! Don’t even worry, you’ve got - ” Gina looked down at her bare wrist as though checking the time - “Seventy-eight whole hours to prep! No, wait - my bad - 73. Forgot to carry the one. Math, right?”

“Carry the - what _one_?”

“Oh, am I not supposed to do that? My B. Division’s the worst. So what’s 78 minus 4 o’clock on Friday?”

Amy counted very slowly to ten before getting to her feet.

“Three days? I have _less than three days_?”

“I dunno, I suck at math,” Gina said brightly. Amy spun on her heel in the direction of the restroom only to pause when Holt’s assistant called out, “By the way, did you know this isn’t just like, _one_ class? It’s this big come-as-you-are-if-you’re-interested deal! And those stadium lecture halls, damn they’re big. Seriously awesome acoustics in there.”

“I hate you,” Amy glowered.

“Impossible. I’m way too adorable for anyone to hate me.”

“Okay, I know this is, like, _super fun_ from your end, but - ” Amy cut herself off with a huff of breath. “Forget it. Listen, would you mind - ”

“Yes, hun, if he beats you back to the pen I’ll tell Jacob you’re sneaking a cig break.”

Amy nodded stiffly and walked away with a pissy click of booted heels on the linoleum floor.

At her desk, Gina, who had coached both Holt and Kev on how to maneuver Amy into her current predicament, snickered to herself. Gina would have to ask Holt for a little play-by-play, though she suspected that in the course of less than half an hour the captain and his husband had turned things around so Amy went from tentatively refusing to adamantly demanding her place at the podium. She also figured Amy would realize how neatly she’d been played before she’d even lit her cigarette.

What Amy probably wouldn’t consider was the fact that it was Gina herself - being such an amazing detective slash human - who had volunteered Amy for the gig in the first place. She’d also advised Holt to toss out Jake’s name as frontrunner if he and Kev needed to give Amy that final shove.

The thing was, despite Gina’s constantly teasing and mocking Santiago, she really did think Amy was the perfect candidate. As soon as the detective got through her initial bumbling nerves, Gina had no doubt at all that her smart, savvy, hottie of a coworker would deliver a spot-on performance. And she fully intended to be in the audience - there was no way in hell Gina would miss the show.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pepperoni slices and accusations fly.

**_Back in the present, Jake and Amy’s apartment_ **

Jake stooped over to drop a kiss on the crown of Amy’s down-turned head and asked the required question: "Ames, what's wrong?"

She sniffled.

“Nothing.”

“Something,” he countered, taking her hand and tugging her upright.

“Something,” she conceded sadly.

“Well the endlessly wise Doctor Peralta is here to listen to your troubles. Plus, pizza!”

“I don’t need prescription pizza, Peralta. I need Xanax.”

Brilliant opening, Jake thought, to steer the conversation from its inevitable destination. “Cool, we’ll pop the pizza in the oven and swing by the evidence locker real quick. That’s where we keep all the good stuff.”

“What good stuff?” she demanded. “There is no good stuff. There is no good. Life is a nightmare and I can’t wake up.”

Well, she’d derailed that attempt at misdirection pretty damn quick. Resigned, Jake led her to the couch before grabbing some paper plates from under the kitchen sink (Amy generally forbade the use of disposable dinnerware, but in her current state he thought he could get away with it). He slid two gooey pieces on the plate and passed it to her, helped himself, then opened what would surely be a can of super-icky worms.

“Soooooo,” he drawled, “What’s going on?”

After primly chewing and swallowing a bite, Amy took Jake’s free hand to pull him down beside her on the couch, snuggling against his side and releasing a dramatic groan.

“My rabbi betrayed me.”

“Oh my God, Ames!” Jake’s eyes grew wide, his face cartoonishly overdramatic. “Did he - _tell_ me he didn’t throw away your new best friend pen!”

Amy sniffed. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“No, no, I don’t think I’m funny. I know I’m hilarious.”

Amy snickered, then sighed. She rose, plate in hand, to pace the length of their glass-topped coffee table. “Jake, I am so screwed.”

She looked so damned miserable that he answered without pausing to think; the assurance just rolled off his traitorous tongue. “You’re not screwed, babe - you can handle this.”

Amy stopped mid-step; the word “shit” flashed violently red behind Jake’s eyes.

“And what exactly am I handling, Detective?”

“Things,” Jake answered quickly. “Things with handles. Handy things. Hands with things on them. Them handle thangsssss…”

Amy took a threatening step forward, knocked her knee on the edge of the coffee table, and dropped a rare F-Bomb. “You .”

At this point, most people would simply surrender. Jake wasn’t most people.

“I mean. Maybe. You’re gonna have to be more specific. The number of things I know is vast and dazzling and honestly beyond most people’s ability to comprehend."

Amy's eyes flashed. "How very convenient that right after you have a pow-wow with Gina, you, Boyle, and Diaz have to run off on some ‘emergency’ and _I_ get called into Holt’s office.” Jake opened his mouth to speak - it _had_ been a legit 9-1-1 - but Amy barreled on. "Yeah, I know all about your thrift shop case. Oh no, the Salvation Army wages war on good will towards men, fences are mended, world peace is achieved _all while your fiancee is facing a firing squad!_ ”

Jake kept up his attempt to dodge a bloodbath, grinning foolishly. ”THAT'S why it's called Goodwill! Because, good will! Like, willing good! Amy you teach me something new every day, it’s just beautiful, you’re beautiful, teach me more - ”

"Jacob Peralta, don't play games and do _not_ think you'll distract me." Amy shot him a glare beneath her fringe of black lashes, then yanked his plate out of his hand, dropped it atop the closed lid of the pizza box, and stalked toward the kitchen doorway where they’d tucked a trashcan neatly in the corner. She flipped open the lid menacingly and watched Jake’s jaw drop.

“Amy! Don’t take it out on the pizza!"

"You knew. You one hundred percent knew this was coming. You let me walk into the captain’s office with _no warning_ and I made a complete fool of myself and - ”

“Wait - Amy - seriously - do you hear that?”

Amy tipped the pizza box so Jake’s plate teetered toward the mouth of the trashcan.

“No! I’m serious! It’s the phone - I think I heard my phone.” He was on his feet in a flash. “Someone may be calling for justice Ames! Justice!”

"If you leave this room I will eat every slice of pizza I can manage and throw the rest in the trash.” She slowly peeled a circle of pepperoni off Jake’s slice, placing it on her tongue and swallowing with a satisfied moan. “That phone still ringing, or are you gonna step up and admit it, Peralta?”

“Ames, what if it’s an _emergency_?? What if the Nine Nine needs us?! Avengers assemble!”

She grit her teeth, pivoted toward the tiny entry area to the apartment, and dug into the pockets of Jake’s jacket. Whipped out his phone, where it lay idle in her hand.

Jake returned to his seat on the couch, pressed his hands to his temples. “I _hear_ it Amy. What if - isn’t there that thing, that tinny-tiny thing where the ringing never stops? For _reals_ Ames, THE RINGING! Oh, God, am I gonna die?! Can you die from tinny-tiny?!”

“Okay, one, it’s called tinnitus, and it is an actual medical condition. Two, no, it’s not life-threatening. What _is_ life threatening is faking said condition to avoid owning up to your fiancee. Just admit it, Jake. You were completely aware that Holt would spring this on me.”

“AMY?? ARE YOU SAYING SOMETHING?? TALK LOUDER! ALL I HEAR IS BUZZING!!”

Amy ignored this and continued her systematic removal of pepperoni slices, leaning against the doorjamb, patient as a rattlesnake.

“Okay okay okay. You’re right, Amy.” He took a long breath, put his face ashamedly into his hands and spoke from behind his palms. “I lied. I knew it all along. I don’t have tinny-titus.”

The next pepperoni slice smacked Jake neatly in the forehead.

“You done yet?” Amy asked caustically.

Okay, time to concede defeat. “Ames, I’m sorry. Yes, maybe Gina mentioned that Holt wanted to ask you a favor, but honestly, I hardly knew the specifics. And it’s the captain! How could I know you’d be _mad_ that Captain Holt picked _you_ for some special something-or-whatever??” Inspired, Jake’s words tumbled on. “Besides, I figured, you know, yay, surprise! You love getting singled out by the captain! Helping him out is like your heroin! I didn’t want to ruin the surprise! I mean, is it _really_ my fault that I thought you’d be excited instead of pissed?? ”

Jake could only describe the sound Amy made as a growl.

“I may love you, but I am not an idiot, and you are a jackass. If Gina mentioned it to you, then she also mentioned exactly what Holt’s little ‘surprise’ entailed, which means you’d know how freaked out I’d get. You’re not getting off clean here. Every _single_ free second you have ’til this godawful presentation is gonna be spent listening to me practice. That’s three days of unending, straight up regulation cop-talk, Jake. Think you can handle it? And I haven’t even gotten to the PowerPoint part - you _know_ I love a good long PowerPoint.”

He couldn’t help it; he smiled affectionately. “And I love you for loving a good long PowerPoint.” He companionably patted the cushion beside him, gesturing her over. “Wanna decompress a little?”

Amy remained motionless for a moment, head cocked as she looked at the big stupid wonderful dork she couldn’t wait to marry. “If a minute’s all you’ve got, I think I’ll pass,” she said finally, but her mouth curved as she sat beside him.

“Hey now, that was _one_ time. Not my fault I can’t control my hormones around you.” He gave her a playful little nuzzle in the crook of her neck, made her laugh.

“You can’t control your hormones, period.” Now she handed him his sad slice of pepperoni-less pie and settled deeper into the couch. “So, more on the robbery case?”

“God, Ames, it was so great. I mean, bad great, because crime, but still. You know this was like, the fifth thrift store hit in the last three weeks, right? Turns out, it’s like a turf war going on between Salvation Army and Goodwill volunteers. You can’t make this stuff up. Did you know the SA guys are super homophobic? Like, disgustingly so? Also kinda anti-semitic - my nose isn’t _that_ big. Being a cop and all, I’m above taking sides in petty disagreements - ” Amy snorted, which Jake gracefully ignored, “But if I weren’t such an enlightened, mature, masterpiece of a man, I’ve gotta say, I’d throw a party for those Goodwill guys. I mean, the Salvation Army _did_ start it - they played their king first, right, and when you play your king the other team pretty much has to kill it. Check and mate, right?”

 _One day, when I really want to make an ass of him, I’m definitely having Dad challenge Jake to a game of chess_ , Amy thought idly.

“It just all escalated super fast, and we caught the army dudes in the act, then one of them goes off on how they’re part of some holy crusade to rid the earth of - and this is a quote - 'dirty disease-spreading homos.’ It was really effed up, and I had to stop Rosa before she could commit police brutality. Then before we’ve even started wrapping _that_ scene, we get a call that the good guys - as in, the Goodwill guys, because again, cops don’t choose sides - were simultaneously pulling a job at a Salvation Army store down the block. It was all very hectic and exhausting and morally overwhelming.”

“Clearly,” Amy said, smacking Jake’s hand before he could swipe one of her pizza toppings.

“You’re a hard one to win over, Detective Santiago, but I’ll break through that icy shell.”

“Jake, I don’t want to screw this up. I can’t screw this up, but I’m just going to embarrass myself. Which means embarrassing Holt, and that’s just…” She sighed and handed Jake her pizza.

“Ames, you’ve got this. Somewhere in you, you know this kinda thing is totally perfect for you. You’re so damn smart, and when you forget to be paranoid you’re such a natural. I swear, half the guys will leave totally in love with you and the other half will be forcibly removed because they’ll refuse to leave at all. You’ll be amazing, Ames. I mean, that passion, that insane integrity, all the pure _good_ in you? It’s rubbed off on me. I’m better because of _you_. You’ll just be sharing some of that with strangers you never have to deal with again, since you’ll be too busy dealing with me for the rest of forever.”

“You’re sneaky, and smart, and incredibly annoying, Jacob Peralta. I really love you for it. Hey, do you think I can work your case into my presentation? I mean, socially relevant, right? I could do a sort of play-by-play, drag it out for half an hour-ish… Then pair that with a PowerPoint to kill the other half hour? That could work, don't you think?"

Delighted that the crisis had passed, Jake nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! And I’m here for you, babe, for all the practice and whatever. I’ll be your very dashing guinea pig, completely at your beck and call. So you just nail the presentation, then you've just gotta get through the Q and A part, and you're golden!"

Amy's smile withered. “The Q and _what_??”

Jake hastily added two more slices to his plate and got to his feet, ensuring his dinner was out of Amy’s reach. “Sorry babe, I dunno what it stands for either but - hey is it hot in here? I think it’s pretty hot I’m just gonna take my dinner elsewhere don’t wanna spread any germs before your big day kay talk more soon!”

Amy waited a few beats before Jake called from the direction of their room.

“Amy? I think a printer exploded and ate our bed!”

She casually tidied up the living room, refrigerated the last of the pizza, then joined Jake in the bedroom, where sticky-notes, index cards, notebooks, photos, and all manner of office-supply paraphernalia lay scattered. He was staring in horror at the mountain of notes standing between him and his pillow. Amy shot him a toothy grin.

“Time to step up, guinea pig.”

**_Meanwhile, in a shady corner of Brooklyn..._ **

In the cramped quarters of a ground-floor efficiency, a broad-shouldered man with wild, unkempt hair and a serious case of BO paced back and forth in a bathrobe, a pay-as-you-go phone pressed to his ear. He counted his steps - a mere seven brought him from one wall to the other. The voice on the phone was stern as it rattled off orders; the robed man interjected a “yeah,” “sure,” “got it,” every few sentences without actually listening.

Seven steps, he thought darkly. From a New York City penthouse apartment to a room he shared with rats and roaches. From champagne baths and lingerie models and gleaming chauffeured Range Rovers to leaky pipes running with frigid water and paranoid women who tried macing him on the subway. From fame and glory and endless wish fulfillment to this shithole.

“Devereaux! Are you getting all this?”

“Oh, I’ve got it,” the man answered, pausing to glance at his oddball neighbor and current partner-in-crime. The scrappy little guy sniffed loudly as he did yet another line of coke off the formica kitchen counter.

“Friday evening, Devereaux. Don’t fuck this up.”

“You can trust me any day,” the man said easily. “I used to be a cop.”

“Right,” the voice on the phone drawled. “Stay on top of things, Mark. I’ll be in touch.”

Miles away in his max security prison cell, Jimmy “The Butcher” Figgis’s strong mouth twisted in a sinister smile. The background screen of his contraband flip-phone showed a beaming photo of Detective Amy Santiago. Figgis's smile widened.

“Oh, Peralta. This is gonna be fun.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sexy interlude kicks off Amy's big day, leaving her utterly unprepared for a major turn of events, and a dreamy morning for Jake devolves into his greatest nightmare.

**_Friday Morning, Jake and Amy’s Apartment_**

The morning of Amy’s big presentation, Jake woke to the sound of running water and an off-key rendition of 'This Land is Your Land,' making his mouth curve in an amused smile. Whenever she was nervous, his fiancee had a subconscious habit of singing patriotic songs. He imagined that even as she segued into her fallback favorite, 'Grand Old Flag,' she was still unaware of the fact that she was singing aloud. And loudly.

The smartest, strongest woman he'd ever known, the brilliant test-taker, the detective soon to be known as Sergeant Santiago, and she was terrified of public speaking. Still, Jake practically knew her prepared material by heart simply after listening to it a couple (thousand) times. If he hadn’t been closing cases or making court appearances, he’d been spending all his time alternately walking Amy through her rehearsals and talking her down from near panic attacks. She’d put together a solid presentation, and if he could get off in time, Jake had every intention of slipping into the crowd to watch his girl shine.

Plus he figured he could lob some softballs at her when the question and answer section opened up; improvising wasn’t Amy’s strong point in an open forum. She could manipulate the hell out of a suspect with wordplay and quick-wittedness, but in a huge room of strangers, her brain cells simply froze. She’d find her rhythm, though. She always did.

With a wide yawn, Jake glanced at the clock; it was 7:58, exactly 62 minutes before he'd be expected behind his desk at the 99th precinct. He sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into the mattress, the duvet pulled up to his chin. He figured he had at least 45 more minutes to remain cocooned in the warmth of their bed. That was plenty of time for a bowl of milk and cereal - Amy had outlawed his previous mixer of choice; apparently it was ‘gross’ to substitute orange soda for milk in his cereal, so he guzzled a can of it with his breakfast instead. Then he'd hop into the shower, a process he'd honed down to a precise four minutes (two-in-one shampoo/conditioner? Genius). He'd brush the orange soda tint from his teeth, slip into whatever work shirt was closest at hand, yank on his least-wrinkled pants, grab his badge, gun, cell, wallet, then head for the door. He'd shrug on his jacket on his way to the car, one hand holding his keys, the other tucked in his jacket pocket along with a rolled-up tie he may or may not end up wearing, and get started with his day.

For now, though, he considered doing just what he'd always done in the pre-Amy days - going back to sleep, hitting the snooze button a couple (okay, four) times, then rolling out of bed. But his life wasn't pre-Amy anymore, so instead of nodding off again he simply lay on the comfortable mattress he'd bought for her and waited for his soon-to-be-wife to re-enter their room and efficiently prepare for her workday.

They'd be driving to the precinct separately this morning, which was always a bit of a bummer. Jake was on call that evening thanks to a hot tip that he, for once, hoped wouldn't pan out. That meant Amy had to leave work before him and wend her way through Friday traffic spanning between Brooklyn and Columbia's Manhattan campus. She wanted to confer with the professor for whom she was doing the presentation, hopefully have him eyeball her outline and offer direction, if necessary. And she needed five minutes of total solitude for some breathing exercises - plus she had to squeeze in those tongue-twisters she’d read about, the ones actors used to limber up before a performance.

Jake had, repeatedly, offered his own services when it came to limbering up Amy’s tongue, which had earned him many an eye roll - and several delicious payoffs after Amy mentally clocked out for the day. She had such a flavor to her - the slightest bite of cinnamon, maybe, drizzled with honey. Which logically sounded pretty weird and not all that appealing, but the combination worked like a freakin’ drug for Jake.

And Jake worked like a drug for Amy. He kept her earth-bound when her head threatened to rocket sky-high. He tethered her before her endless tumbling thoughts sent her spiraling into the atmosphere. He could both calm and quicken her pulse just by holding her hand. Yes, somehow, the brash, impulsive, hilarious detective was exactly what Amy needed. She loved him for his endearing insanity; he loved her not in spite of her anal, by-the-book, meticulously organized type A-ness, but because of it. She loved the flexibility of his mind, his irreverence, integrity, and undeniable intelligence. And he loved the quirky dork who snored in her sleep and insulted computer screens, books, crossword puzzles, even graffiti, when they displayed improper grammar.

Neither Jake nor Amy were aware just how closely their thoughts were running as both indulged in some seriously sappy daydreams.

Humid air spilled out of the master bathroom as Amy secured her towel under her arms and entered the bedroom. The towel had been part of a trademark-Jake housewarming gift - the box set of bath linens included two full length towels, two hair-sized versions, a pair of hand towels, and a fluffy oversized robe, all in shades of deep, gunmetal gray. Months of living together had yet to dim the smile that bloomed on her face every time she used those damn towels. He’d prominently displayed the tag on the box (though he wasn’t so crass as to leave the item price visible) to prove that these gray fabrics were not pre-owned, inherited items - unlike a certain towel from a bygone era, a fossil of cloth that defied physics when they’d attempted to burn it.

It was such a _Jake_ present, and she adored it for that alone.

She quietly padded to the antique dresser housing her underclothes in an attempt to avoid waking Jake, unaware that he was alert and enjoying her rendition of ‘Home on the Range.’ She snagged her bottle of Jergen's body lotion and dropped the towel, slathering the cream over smooth dusky skin.

Her nakedness didn't bother her, given that the love of her life had yet to stir. If she’d known he was silently taking in the show, he had no doubt she’d get that pretty blush going and accuse him of being a pervert. But she wouldn’t actually be uncomfortable - not like she’d been in other relationships. Amy wasn't exactly a prude, but being with Jake had given her a new appreciation for her own body - a willingness to share it, even if she was convinced her left boob drooped lower than her right, and that her legs were stumpy (a claim that utterly baffled her husband-to-be). She’d always known how to play up her looks, but with Jake, she didn’t have to do so with any conscious effort. Something in the way he looked at her made her physical self react boldly, confidently. He looked at her, and she felt sexy, whether wearing one of her huge sleep t-shirts or a date-night dress.

Still, she whirled around in all her nude glory at the sound of his appreciative murmur from across the room.

"Holy - damn it, Jake, you scared the crap out of me!"

He aimed a sleepy smile her way. "Oops."

She rolled her eyes dramatically but didn't bother to hide her smirking lips. "Pervert."

He laughed - yeah, he knew his Ames - and answered, “Only for you, babe, only for you.”

Amy headed for the closet and her morning robe. She gathered its folds around her slim form, flipped her hair forward and bundled it in a towel, then stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at his sleepy face, the pillow crease running the length of his left cheek, the mess of his unruly hair, and kept right on smirking. "Gosh, Peralta, you just say the most romantic things."

His eyes sobered along with his amused expression. "How's this, then? Amy Santiago, you take my breath away."

There wasn't an ounce of humor in his voice. "All that silky brown skin with that rosy flush from the shower, those huge bright eyes that look at me the way no one ever has before... God, Amy, you are unbelievably beautiful, you know that?"

He was sitting up now, his expression so sincere, so sweet, so soft and dopey with love for her, that she simply couldn't stop herself. Damp hair so dark it bordered on black tumbled out from beneath the towel on her head; the robe slipped from her shoulders. She ignored the bedside clock - a true testament to both her love for him and her own hormones - and walked to the bed. He was already pulling back the covers, reaching for her.

"I can't believe I get to wake up to this, to you, every day for the rest of my life." He said it in a husky whisper that shot electricity down her spine. It wasn't often that Jake's offbeat, endlessly entertaining attitude dropped away to reveal this deliciously sweet, soft, dazzled side of him. It only made these moments more precious.

"We'll see if you're still saying that when we're sixty," she returned, a little unnerved by the love shining from his brown eyes. Seeing so much emotion, such adoration and happiness and contentment and yes, that glow of love, all directed entirely at her - overwhelmed her in the best of ways. He pulled her closer, nuzzled her neck.

"Damn it Jacob Peralta, you are so going to make us late for work."

He smiled, his grip tightening as he reveled in the press of her bare chest to his own, in the thump of their rapidly increasing heartbeats. His head dipped and his lips brushed the strong line of her collarbone, skimmed higher along the elegant arch of her neck, nipped her earlobe, traced it with the barest whisper of his tongue. His warm breath disturbed tendrils of her not-quite-dry hair, his soft exhalation making her tremble involuntarily. She tangled long fingers in his hair, yanked him close, kissed him with a ferocity that had a shudder moving through his body. Savoring the rush that came with knowing he was spellbound, utterly powerless as her hands wandered, she bit his bottom lip just hard enough to make the glow between them spark, sizzle, flame.

"So, you think I'm beautiful, hmm?" Her words were a teasing whisper, and his brain fought to hear her over the rush of blood pounding through every cell of his body.

His breath caught as her hand trailed lower, but his reply was coherent even as he rolled her beneath him, propped himself up on his elbows, and stared straight into those warm brandy eyes.

"Ames, I know you're beautiful. But if you're gonna brush off the words, I guess I'll have to prove just how insanely gorgeous you are, how damned perfect for me, some other way." Now his smile turned to a cocky grin and a wicked gleam lit his eyes. Now his hands wandered, his mouth catching her breathy moan.

“And, sorry, detective, but I think you're right. We are almost definitely going to be late." Jake's eyes danced - so did his fingers. "But I promise you, it'll be extremely worth it."

For form, she aimed a skeptical look at him, though it was difficult to maintain with his hands so firmly possessing her. "It better -" her words caught on another groan, more desperate than the last.

"Sorry babe - what'd you say? I didn't quite catch that." His voice was all innocence, his expression unapologetically devilish.

Amy drew a ragged breath, steadied her voice as best she could. "I said - " another unsteady exhale - "that this had better be worth it."

Jake's grin became a full on smile, delighted, captivated, bursting with love. He kissed her lavishly, lips still tilted by his smile.

"Oh, it will be. Peralta guarantee."

Minutes, hours, days later, Amy was forced to admit that this time around, the infamous Peralta guarantee was no empty promise... And that being four minutes late to work was, indeed, worth it.

**_Friday Evening, Pre-Presentation_**

Amy was just double-checking the actual parallel line-up of her parallel parking job when her phone rang from the passenger seat. Hoping she was getting a quick pep-talk from Jake, she answered without glancing at the screen, smoothly killing the engine and checking her reflection in the rearview mirror with her typical multi-tasking efficiency. Her greeting was distracted as she carefully reapplied lipstick shades darker than her peach-toned shirt, then dashed warm bronzer tinted with the slightest pink hue along her cheekbones.

“Lo?”

The voice on the other line was unfamiliar, a low, pleasant baritone. Preoccupied as she was, Amy didn’t notice the fine thread of nerves humming through that voice.

“Oh - Professor Hartley,” Amy responded when the caller identified himself. She shifted her tone from casual to crisply professional without a blink. “I’ve just pulled up outside your building. Shall I meet you at your office?”

“Actually, my dear,” he answered in a quintessentially professorial manner, “It seems the original auditorium slated for the presentation is experiencing some sort of problem - temperature controls, or perhaps flooding? Vandalism? Goodness, I’ve already forgotten!” His laugh was a tinge jittery, which Amy excused under the assumption that the last-minute change unnerved the professor nearly as much as it unnerved her.

She struggled to maintain a level voice. “I’m sure that’s not abnormal on a campus this size,” she managed breezily. Semi-breezily. Okay, tightly and with a note of panic, but that was neither here nor there. “I was under the impression that we were meeting at your office before the presentation - should I come in, go over my notes, some bullet points, the overall outline?” _Maybe look at the steps and subsections and general quality of the project in the binder I put together?_. Wisely, Amy refrained from actually speaking the last sentence aloud. Bafflingly, people seemed averse to her fierce binder devotion. She thought momentarily of Jake and the way he indulged her love of office supplies, and for half a second, her nerves eased. The professor’s next words shattered that beautiful calm.

“Unfortunately, there just isn’t time for that. I’m quite confident in your capabilities, Detective Santiago - I’m sure a run-through is unnecessary.” Amy didn’t have a chance to protest as Hartley barreled on. “The location we’ve been moved to is on the opposite side of campus - the walk from my office alone is at least twenty minutes - and as I’m not even _at_ the office, well, that would be a silly plan, wouldn’t it!” Amy bit back a frustrated moan. “Anyway, I’m already at the alternate auditorium. You know, there are few drawbacks to working at such a prestigious university, but having our buildings scattered throughout such a busy metropolitan area does present its inconveniences…” the professor forced a little ‘humph’ into his speech. “Still, as they say, these things happen. Now, you said you’re outside my office building, correct?”

Resigned, Amy restarted her car, switched the phone to speaker, and pulled back onto the side-street bordering the humanities building. “I’m pulling away now, sir. So we - ” pure willpower kept her from squeaking - “We won’t be going over the material ahead of time?” How was she supposed to know if her PowerPoint hit all the right notes, or if the images she’d selected were the absolute best visual representation the Internet and NYPD archive footage could offer? How was she supposed to know if the practiced speech sounded too tight, _too_ practiced?

She wished viciously - and fruitlessly - for Jake. He’d calm her down, help her get a grip, but _no_ , he was too busy upholding law and order or some such nonsense. She’d hoped - they’d both hoped - he’d be able to make the presentation, but another active case caught unexpected momentum, leaving Amy alone and miserable, actively fighting the oncoming panic attack.

“Ideally, yes - but navigating cross-town can be tricky, and Friday nights in Manhattan…” the professor trailed off forebodingly. “Anyway, you’ll want to make your way to from your present location - that would be outside Butler Hall - to the Dodge Miller Theater. Professor Cozner provided you with a campus map, yes?”

That very map was tucked into the visor above the driver’s seat. Unfolding it, Amy saw to her immediate dismay that this obviously absentminded professor was seriously misjudging his estimated walking time. A marathon runner could make it in less than twenty minutes; a neatly-attired cop in her black fitted pantsuit, heeled boots, and sharply-pressed dress shirt would wilt long before reaching her destination. She scanned the empty road but flipped her hazards on, just in case, then pulled up Google Maps to find the quickest route by car. Her heart sank; her nausea spiked.

“Professor… There’s just no way I’ll be on time.” She was growing fidgety, her hands clammy on the wheel, tightening, relaxing, tightening again. She had to get from Morningside to Broadway on a Friday evening by way of 114th Street. A pedestrian-only road connecting Amsterdam and Broadway nixed the possibility of that more direct path. It was impossible. She’d specifically arrived 35 minutes early, which was already down to 28. Google stated it would take _45_ to make it from point A to B. After all the work she’d put into nailing this whole thing, all the absurd fake questions Jake threw at her (“Does sexual tension ever get in the way of crime-solving? Ever gotten freak-ay in the precinct? How often do they wipe security tapes?”), Amy would be late - _late!_ \- for the event.

Hartley obviously heard the distress in her voice. “Well… I suppose there is an alternative option, though I’m not sure how much time it would save you…”

Desperate, Amy instantly asked what this other option entailed.

“Members of on-campus security have those little - you know, the carts? To patrol? Perhaps I can reach someone near your location and have you driven across the campus itself… Now I can’t make any promises there, but that would certainly save you time - cut a few corners, if you will,” he added with a little huff of laughter.

Outside, it was beginning to drizzle, perfectly matching Amy’s mood. She made the lightning decision; being late was against everything she stood for, and while it wasn’t the most attractive option, it was her best shot at some semblance of timeliness.

“Okay, yes, that would be incredibly helpful. I’m parked on Morningside. I would be incredibly grateful if you could find a patrolman to get me to the other building, Professor. Speed,” she continued dramatically, “is of the essence.”

“Indeed, my dear, indeed. Let me see if we have a security guard near your location; I’ll call you right back.”

He hung up before she could respond, so Amy gathered her belongings on her lap, twined her fingers, and practiced her breathing. She stared down at her engagement ring until its shine filled the entirety of her vision, breathing deep and gradually managing to slow her heart rate - until a knock on her window had her all but leaping from her skin.

She kept her doors locked, eyed her glovebox where her weapon was stored, then cracked the window.

“Hi there,” a cheerful voice said from beneath the peak of a starched uniform-style hat. The brim shadowed the man’s face, but his voice was easygoing and friendly. “Ms. Santiago?” He didn’t wait for a response, just gestured to the golf cart across the street just outside the entrance to Hartley’s building. It was emblazoned with the Columbia University logo; printed beneath the logo were the words “Protect and Serve.” _Very original,_ Amy thought vaguely, but she sent the man a grateful smile.

“Professor Hartley sent me to get you across campus. I understand you have an appointment to make - Friday night traffic won’t be working with you there!” The man gave a hearty chuckle.

Relief seeping through every pore, Amy shouldered her bag and opened the door. In a gentlemanly move, the rent-a-cop angled his umbrella over her door, shielding Amy from the drizzle.

“Thank you so much, sir. I’m ah… well, this presentation - I’m actually a detective with the NYPD, and as, you know, an officer of the law - well, it’s just incredibly important to me that I represent my precinct and the whole department to the absolute best of my ability.” She was babbling now, causing the campus officer to laugh.

“Don’t you worry, detective, I’ll get you where you need to go post haste.” After settling her into the snug confines of the passenger seat, the man collapsed his umbrella and skirted the vehicle before climbing behind the wheel.

“I really, really appreciate it,” Amy gushed, aware that she was acting like a neurotic control freak - but that was fine, since she was exactly that. Plus, she had the length of their journey to get out all the nerves and ideally steady herself before the presentation. That pre-discussion talk with Hartley was definitely not going to happen now. She almost asked the officer if she could practice her opening on him, then decided she needed oxygen more than another rehearsal. “I know I seem a little crazy,” she said, turning to look at him in the dim light, “but there’s really nothing I hate more than tardiness.”

Silence from the driver, but that was fine - Amy’s busy thoughts were loud enough to drown out any other sound. When the cart made an unexpected turn onto a deserted alley between two brick-faced buildings, Amy’s focus sharpened. In the flicker of a streetlight, she struggled to make out the driver’s face. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but a glance at her wristwatch banished it.

“Shortcut,” he explained easily.

“Do you think I’ll be on time? God, I hope I’ll be on time.” She was essentially talking to herself at this point, anxiety distracting her as she ran lines through her head, murmured tongue-twisters under her breath. “Little Lucy loathes letting late losers lallygag,” she muttered over and over.

She was so lost in her mind, in her twitchy bubble of anxiety, that she barely heard the officer’s response as he abruptly stopped the vehicle beneath a broken streetlight.

“Then Little Lucy will _really_ hate this,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Amy barely had time to register the invasive prick of the needle he plunged into her thigh before darkness took her.


End file.
